


you've got a fire inside (but your heart's so cold)

by mymostimaginaryfriend



Series: cartel carols [3]
Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kinda? Fluff Adjacent, Swearing, be the backstory you want to see in the world, but barely, i'm a sap news at 11, let jeresa flirt 2k20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymostimaginaryfriend/pseuds/mymostimaginaryfriend
Summary: To Teresa, Christmas has always seemed like something meant forotherpeople.  But what happens when an unexpected mission lets Teresa be somebody else for just one night?aka two Grinchesfakedate their way through Christmas Eve (s2)
Relationships: Teresa Mendoza/James Valdez
Series: cartel carols [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1217811
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	you've got a fire inside (but your heart's so cold)

**Author's Note:**

> gosh it feels like it's been a bajillion years since i've seen jeresa on screen but wanted to keep the cartel carols tradition alive so tried my best! 
> 
> a belated happy holidays to everyone--especially to all of those out there that for whatever reason don't find this time of year all that magical. xoxo.
> 
> title from ‘haunted’ by halsey

Teresa is pretty sure she believed in Christmas once. She must have, right? Back when the world was safe and warm enough for the sort of magic you believed in because you _wanted_ to, not the kind you believed through desperate pleas as a last resort. 

She must have believed once, but it was so long ago she can’t remember for sure. She hopes there was a time when the colors red and white meant candy canes or Santa Claus, not bullet wounds bleeding through baptismal white. 

Sometimes she likes to imagine there are other versions of herself out there that get to enjoy the holiday—maybe the Teresa that wasn’t orphaned so young, or another Teresa who made it to that beach in Spain with Guero—but to _her_ , Christmas has only ever been just another day to survive.

The closest thing she’s had to a _Christmas_ Christmas was last year with Guero at Epifanio’s party and well....all the pretty lights in the world couldn’t stop that first fateful domino from falling. One after another, they’d been falling ever since. 

Not that her current surroundings reflected the hardships she’d been through these last twelve months. With how the year began she never would have guessed she’d close it out like this: standing on a ballroom’s terrace in Lake Tahoe watching the snowfall with a glass of bubbly in one hand and a diamond the size of a dime on the other.

If there’s anything she’s learned by now, it’s that life is full of surprises. And as surprises go, she prefers the kind that come with unlimited champagne.

“This is bullshit.”

Sounds like somebody needed a refill.

“Armando makes us jump through all these hoops and for what? Two seconds of conversation?”

Teresa takes another sip and watches her...fiance? Husband? _Shit they should really get their story straight_ _—_ stub out one cigarette only to immediately light another. She’s not really sure if the situation warrants chain smoking but far be it for her to judge. This is her third glass of champagne.

To be honest she‘s still playing catch-up. One moment, she’d been contemplating a Christmas camped out in Camila’s safehouse. The next she was wearing an evening gown on a private plane. 

Technically, the invitation to Armando Reyes’ Christmas Eve Gala had been addressed to Camila but when the time came, she’d only just repaired her relationship with Isabela. She was eager to spend the holiday season restrengthening their bond, not jeopardizing their fragile truce by spending the holiday several states away on business.

“This is too important,” Camila had insisted, turning the invitation over in her hands. Armando was not only one of her oldest partnerships, but her only investor that wasn’t linked to other cartels. After all of the recent complications with Epifanio and the Columbians, Armando’s support was more important than ever. “It’d be considered a slap in the face if no one attended. James, you’ll go instead.”

James had readily agreed, pulling out his phone to make the arrangements when Camila had added, “Of course you’ll need a date.”

James narrowed his eyes. “Why.”

“You know why.”

“That’s ancient history,” he scoffed but Camila had merely raised an eyebrow. 

Apparently, Armando had always made a big show of his family-is-everything-image. Even if it was just a front it was a well-established one. James couldn’t show up solo with only a scowl. 

“Not after last time.”

Camila spoke the words as though she were chumming the water, baring her teeth in a savage smile. Whether the barb was meant as a punchline or a sucker punch, the blow landed. A tense beat followed but whatever silent standoff they were having ended quickly enough. With a stiff nod, James had fallen back into line.

“It’s important that Armando be impressed. Bring Teresa.”

An inexplicable thrill had passed through Teresa at the challenge she saw behind Camila’s eyes. It must have been the prospect of a temporary escape that had excited her or maybe even the thought of her first white Christmas. At least that’s what she had told Pote. She’d never seen snow before after all.

“Stay focused, Teresita,” Pote had warned. “This might not be as easy as you think. Don’t let Christmas cheer confuse you about what is real.”

She’d rolled her eyes fondly. “I’ve got this, Pote.” 

Two days later, she’s not so sure. 

Not the Christmas cheer part—even with the stunningly beautiful decorations of the lodge, she’s managed to remain steadfastly immune to any trace of holiday spirit. Unfortunately for her, she’s having much more trouble resisting her date.

“The least he could do is treat us seriously,” James frowns, propping his hands on the balustrade. He cuts an impressive figure in his tailored black suit, all crisp contrasts and sharp lines. His hair is just long enough again for a stray curl to lift in the breeze before settling back on his forehead. She blames the champagne for the sudden tingling in her fingertips to smooth it back again.

There’s a restless energy in his stance, as if he has no idea what to do with himself without an objective that requires an arsenal or a getaway car. Part of her wants to reach out, see if contact would release the tension like static electricity, test if the shock would be worth the burn. 

She shivers despite herself and he cuts her a glance, angling his body to block some of the breeze. 

The absence of the usual threat to their lives hanging over their heads is messing with her too, blurring the boundaries of the box she’s so carefully placed him in. Whispering a little “what if” into the universe. It didn’t help when he’d handed her the ring as they walked into the lodge, his other hand brushing lightly across the small of her back. She’d been so caught off guard that all she could muster was a decidedly ungraceful, “Shit, is this real?”

The polite smile he’d pasted on in anticipation of greeting their host turned into something sharper. “Don’t even think about pawning it and running.”

Turns out they were both excellent at ruining a moment. 

Now he stands staring so intently out into the night that Teresa wonders if this is what he looks like lining up a shot through his sniper rifle. At least he’d left _that_ behind in Dallas. 

“This is a disaster.”

Hardly.

Just as Camila had told them, they were in a ballroom not a boardroom. To no one’s surprise but James’, Armando had shut him down the moment he’d tried to bring up business. “Now is not the time, young man. When you’re as old as I am you'll learn to appreciate moments like these for what they are.”

“A waste of time?” James had muttered under his breath, stalking to the terrace with Teresa in tow, his hand clenched so tightly around hers that his ring pinched the delicate skin between her fingers.

His reaction didn’t match the perceived slight, but he’d been impossible all night. She didn’t know much about his past but she knew enough to be certain James couldn’t possibly consider this night an actual disaster. They are standing in a freaking snow globe for Christ’s sake. A snow globe with an open bar. And lest anyone forget Teresa’s favorite part—no one is trying to kill them.

She tightens her grip on her champagne flute, ignoring the clink of the ring against the glass. “Oh, I don’t know. There are worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.”

James snorts and takes a long drag sending a dark look over his shoulder. The ballroom at their backs is packed with happy couples and laughing children, decked out to the brim with Christmas trees and garland, white twinkle lights giving everything a warm, homey feeling. For a moment the distance from Dallas seems more than merely physical. It’s almost like she’s stepped into one of those other lives she sometimes wondered about...Another life with— _Well shit_ , maybe Pote had been right after all.

 _Fuck it._ “Give me one of those,” she gestures to James’ cigarette and he glances sideways at her, eyebrows raised. Those fucking eyebrows of his, always with something to say.

He gives her a once over and decides, “No.”

“Seriously?”

He blows smoke out the corner of his mouth. “I‘m not wasting a cigarette on someone who’s just gonna hold it.”

“Wow. You’re fun at parties.”

The side of his mouth quirks and he hands his cigarette over, not looking away while she takes a drag. Maybe she holds his eye contact a little too long before she passes it back to him. 

“I just can’t fucking stand...this shit,” he explains, gesturing to the ballroom. Teresa sighs and wonders if the man has ever relaxed a day in his entire life, wonders what that would even look like, wonders since when did she want to find out? 

She props her hip against the parapet, tilting her head faux-sympathetically. “What’s the matter, honey? Not feeling the holiday spirit?”

His head swings to her in surprise, eyes alert then amused. She feels a flare of triumph at the twist of his lips, the chip in his facade giving her the urge to find out what it would take to push past the mask entirely. What would be left underneath?

She raises her eyebrows in silent challenge as he leans down, reaching deliberately past her to put out his cigarette in an ashtray.

“Really? You’re going with ‘honey’?”

His low voice repeating the endearment near her ear sends a shiver down her spine and if he’s close enough to feel it she’s decided not to care.

“Oh I’m sorry, would you prefer ‘Grinch’ instead? Maybe ‘Scrooge’?”

He breathes out a laugh and she steals a glance at his face but isn’t quick enough to catch the smile before it’s gone. She tries not to notice her disappointment.

“I meant the rest of it,” he sniffs, gesturing toward Armando through the window. “You think any of that family man shit is real? It’s just an act.”

Teresa wearily follows his gaze back to the ballroom, watching Armando dance with his granddaughter, her small feet precariously balanced on his shoes as he shuffles them around the dance floor. She’s not stupid, James is probably right. She’s sure the donation they’d brought for the charity being honored tonight isn’t the only one tainted by blood money. But James saying it out loud has her realizing that for one moment she had let herself actually believe in at least the _possibility._

She’d looked through that window and had seen a chance. Like she could flip back the pages to last Christmas and do it differently. She could almost hear James’ scornful voice in her head. _“You know better than that. This isn’t Choose Your Own Fucking Adventure. People like us don’t get do-overs.”_ Like that was something she might forget.

Yet she almost had. For one stupid, silly moment she’d seen another life through that window. Another life begging her to step inside. 

If Pote finds out he’ll never let her hear the end of it. Just what she needs: more I-told-you-so’s.

“Didn’t think _you’d_ be so festive,” James observes wryly, misinterpreting her melancholy. 

“I’m not,” she answers and the bitterness of the realization must make her words sound as sour as they taste because James looks at her sharply, all traces of humor gone from his face. She crosses her arms against his considering gaze, hating how he always looked too close, saw too much. Wishing for once that he’d turn the other way. 

It’s all too much. James. This year. This place. This _ring_. Other lives close enough to see but never, ever close enough to touch. 

James watches her in silence and the longer he looks the angrier she gets until suddenly she is _livid_. Enraged at the life she’s had, the lives she’s lost. The life Guero took away from them. Furious that she’s here with James instead; furious that she _wants_ to be. Angry that the strings attached to this temporary reprieve don’t feel quite as restricting as they should.

Maybe the adage is true and she only gets one life. But why did it have to be _this_ one.

“Of course it’s an act,” she snaps. “So is this—“ she thrusts her ring finger and it’s ridiculous diamond into his face. “It’s all bullshit.”

James’ eyes widen in warning before they dart around the terrace—no doubt assessing the damage of her outburst, checking the possible escape routes if she tries to run. She almost laughs at how he snaps into action. Of course once shit goes sideways he finally settles down. _This_ is what James looks like relaxed, she realizes. She finds she no longer cares.

“I need a drink,” she proclaims and hitches her dress up with one hand to stalk off the terrace.

“Teresa—“ James is hot on her heels, reaching for her arm but not resisting when she pulls it back out of his grasp. Something about how he lets her go makes her want to grab onto him instead. It’s like all of the restless energy radiating off of him all evening has somehow been transferred to her, and unlike James, she isn’t content to keep it tightly coiled between her shoulder blades. She spins around and crowds him closer, triumphing in every backward step he concedes to her advance.

“How’d we meet?” she demands, relishing the flinch of her raised voice ricocheting across his features. “I know you thought of something in case someone asked. Come on, _sweetheart,_ you always think of every little detail on these things. What would you have told them?”

Once again his eyes flash at the pet name but this time not in amusement. He halts his retreat, but she refuses to back down. They’re standing so close together she has to keep her chin defiantly high to maintain eye contact. 

“What? You didn’t bother? No one gives a shit about the arm candy? Why the ring if I’m ‘just the girlfriend’? Why the _act_?”

“Enough,” James orders, gripping her wrists against his chest but she’s done playing along. She needs him to feel as reckless as she does, as _free._

“Don’t you get it?” she demands, breathless as she pushes back against him. “Of course it’s an act. Do you think he wants to do business with drug dealers in front of his grandchildren on Christmas Eve? Or be reminded about what he’s done to get here? Do _you_?”

His head jerks back as though she’s slapped him and she might feel slightly more regretful about that if it didn’t feel so damn good to finally see him react.

“Don’t you get it,” she asks again a bit desperately, clutching ineffectually at his lapels. She stares back toward the golden glow of the ballroom, suddenly more tired than resentful, as the distance across the terrace seemed wider than ever. “He has the chance to be someone else, to have another life, for just one night. It doesn’t matter if it’s real. It doesn’t _have_ to be.”  
  
James’ grip loosens around her wrists, hands sliding down to rest lightly on her forearms. It’s quiet on the balcony as they catch their breath, watching a cold gust of wind carry a few snow flurries through the light of the window. 

“I would have told them we met at the airport,” he says, quietly. "We shared a cab back together downtown."

She nearly laughs at that, a hysterical bubble threatening to burst to the surface, but when she sees his face, the wildness rushes through her blood for an entirely different reason.

“You just got promoted. Financial analyst, congratulations. You’re not 'just the girlfriend', you're my wife, and you’re probably the smartest fucking person here.”

She swallows hard, not sure exactly which of his words has her feeling like the floor just opened up beneath her feet.

He takes a breath, briefly closing his eyes. “And you’re wearing that ring because the last time I saw Armando I had a fiancée.”

“Fiancée?” she echoes, dumbstruck, something stupidly tender twisting in her chest. He holds her gaze a moment before his eyes skate back out over the water. 

“It was a long time ago,” he says, lifting a shoulder. He shakes his head, helplessly, letting out a humorless laugh. “Another life.”

“Another life,” she repeats. There’s no danger here. Nothing to fear. But her heart is pounding like she suddenly has something to lose. 

He looks down at her, cheekbones shining white underneath the moon, his dark eyes searching her face like he’s expecting to read a familiar answer there. Surprised when he sees something else instead. He blinks and shifts a step closer.

“It matters,” he says voice soft and low, the words reverberating under her fingertips. “It matters to me,” he says again and she can feel his hands start to shift, one a warm weight settling on her waist, the other ghosting up her arm to her neck, thumb just barely tracing her jaw. “That it’s real.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she lifts her chin, matching his bravery. “Even if it's just for one night?”

It has to be.

He pauses for a moment and there's something achingly familiar about his expression. Like a look he’s given her hundreds of times—across the front seat of his truck or from over Camila’s shoulder. Holding himself so carefully still, waiting, watching, for what she never knew. Until now.

His chin dips, nodding his assent and her stomach swoops with something like relief or regret. She knows what she should do. What Dallas Teresa _would_ do. Run—run. And never look back. 

But James is still watching her. Still waiting. Close enough to see _and_ touch. 

So she does. 

The moment her hand curls around the back of his neck, he’s leaning down to meet her. Kissing her like he's thought about it. Kissing her like maybe he's planned for this too, going over every detail and eventuality like prepping for one of his ops. His hands move over her with ruthless efficiency, heavy on her waist, her hips, brushing up her ribs, cupping her jaw to angle the kiss deeper, burying themselves in her hair.

She should have known he’d kiss like this, it how he does anything—with lethal accuracy.

“James,” she gasps against his mouth and he shudders, the kiss changing from demanding to tender. 

“That,” he murmurs against her neck, and it takes her a minute to realize what question he’s answering as he mouths a hot path up her throat to her ear. “Call me that.”

She smiles and cups the back of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. “James,” she breathes and he rewards her by running a hand down the curve of her spine, pulling her more firmly to him. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah?” he asks against her lips, and for a moment she swears he's smiling.

Pote doesn't know what he's talking about, Teresa decides, when for the second time in one night, she finds herself being towed across the terrace by a man on a mission.

She knows exactly what is real. 

But anything can be real for one night. 

Even a Christmas miracle.

James pauses at the steps to the ballroom, looking down at her as he holds open the door. She squeezes his hand and steps inside.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, good luck with that one night thing, guys lol.
> 
> and to you, dear readers: thank you so much for reading & commenting! you're the best!
> 
> ps. i'm doing my best to get a NYE fic done too, so catch me pulling a hallmark and posting holiday content well into january. here's hoping anyway!


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